


The Comforts of Hillwood

by dramatic owl (snarky_panda)



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: Ladies Bingo 2013, Community: dark_bingo, Family, Female Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, prompt: hooker au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_panda/pseuds/dramatic%20owl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A personal and candid picture of some of the working women of Hillwood, a city which is on the brink of lifting some of its more restrictive prostitution laws. Hooker AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Comforts of Hillwood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DW's 2013 Ladies Bingo Challenge, prompt: hooker au and the LJ darkbingo challenge for the prompt: family. Not beta'd yet.
> 
> Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me. Just this story.

_Prostitution: Whether it should be legal or illegal has been the subject of fierce debate the world over for years. Here in the United States, of course, the oldest profession in the world is illegal, except in certain parts of Nevada. Despite this fact, it continues to be a thriving business countrywide._

_But my purpose isn't to present those arguments here, nor do I intend to offer a verdict or even comment on this complex question. I've set out to present a more personal and candid set of snap shots of some of the working women of Hillwood, a city which is on the brink of lifting some of its more restrictive prostitution laws. I chose to interview the girls of arguably the most well-known and prestigious brothel in town. They are a diverse and extraordinary group of women, and I'm fortunate to have been welcomed into their lives and to have gained their trust._

_All of my gratitude goes to Sakura who allowed me to stay in the house while I worked, and to all of the women for allowing me to photograph them and to record our dialogues. I thank them all for their patience and their candor._

_The article that follows is an excerpt of the book of the same title, which will be available this January. Only selected interviews and photographs have been included here._

#

Upon first entering the front parlor of this seven-story brick walk-up, decorated as tastefully and elegantly as it is in warm pinks, beiges, rusts and browns, one might believe they were entering an intimate common room in a fine Victorian-style bed and breakfast or small inn. Plush brown and rust-colored couches and chairs encircle a floral print area rug and a long low mahogany coffee table. White lace runners cover each piece of furniture in the room, vases filled with cheerful pink and white flowers sit on the end tables and on the mantel over the cream-colored stone fireplace.

The attire of the young women lounging on the couches and chairs during the early hours of the evening gives away the house's true purpose. Arriving customers come in here first, look over the women of the Mona Lisa Gentlemen's Club and pick the one (or two, or more if they desire) that they want for the hour or next several hours or the entire night, negotiate the price for the specific service they've requested and pay in advance.

There are blondes, brunettes, redheads, women of all ages, and all shapes and sizes; white women, Black women, Asians, Latinas. All wear lingerie in varying styles and colors, some in full teddies, others in bikini bras and skimpy underpants. A few also wear mesh stockings that come up to just below their thighs, others go bare-legged. All sport high stiletto-heeled shoes.

A petite twenty-something Japanese woman is the only one who is in full dress. This is the brothel's madam, who chooses to be known simply as Sakura. She occupies a small private alcove adjacent to the parlor and when the doorbell rings she goes out to greet the newcomers. She wears a stylish red silk crepe dress with a V-neck, nude pantyhose and black high-heeled pumps. Her long black hair is parted to one side, the hair swept off her face with a red silk flower decorated comb.

Patty is the first girl I interview, a tall, heavy set attractive young woman wearing black stilettos and a long black teddy that ends at the tops of her thighs. She has invited me into her own bedroom for the interview, having only just finished working an hour ago. I sit in a brown leather easy chair with a notebook, pen and cassette recorder. She is seated at her make-up table, straddling the wooden chair backwards so she can face me. Despite the long night of work she has primped and freshened up, giving the appearance that she's ready to begin the next shift.

"Do you mind if I record our interview? I prefer to tape rather than write during interviews so I don't miss—"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Great. So, Patty—"

"Everyone calls me Big Patty."

"Big Patty—"

"'Cause I'm fat and I'm fabulous."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

"And you've been working here at the Mona Lisa for a few years—"

"Since I was eighteen. I know what you're thinking. I'm not as pretty as some of the other girls."

"I wasn't thinking that."

"Maybe I'm not, but I know what men like, what makes them feel good. I know how to make a man feel like a man. I really like sex. And it's great to be able to make money off it. You can really make a lot of money if you know how to negotiate a good price. Sure, we have to give half of what we earn to the house, which sucks, but it's safer in here than working out on the street or for an escort service. One of the girls started out working on the street first. A guy nearly killed her one night. We look out for each other in here, the guys are screened and they're expected to follow the rules of the house. We get regular medical checkups and tests, contraception…do you mind if I smoke?"

"No, go ahead."

I press the pause button while she twists around and rummages through the clutter of brushes and lipsticks and eye shadow palettes on the table, coming up with a pack of Marlboros. She shakes out a cigarette and places it between her lips then fishes through her things once more to find a lighter. She faces me again and I resume taping as soon as she has lit up and exhaled the first steady stream of smoke.

"I know I should quit but...you know…it's hard. I tried the nicotine patch for a while but I usually ended up ripping it off because I wanted the real thing."

"So, you were talking a little bit about the difference between working here in a brothel and working on the street, or for an escort service. You've always worked here, is that right?"

"I never had to be on the street. When I came to the city I got a job tending bar. But it was hard making ends meet. Then I ran into Ruth, a girl from my school, and she told me about this place and Madam Dixie – that's who was running the place when I first came – and that I could make a lot of money. She introduced me."

"And that's the Madam Dixie who is now Mayor Dixie—"

"She's the mayor of Hillwood now, yeah. Sakura bought the business from her a few years ago."

"And Ruth, the girl who referred you – she was in your grade?"

"Well, only for one year. I had to repeat a couple of grades. I never liked school and I've never been good at it. Good thing I don't need to be book smart for this. I got a lot of steady clients. You know, men have their favorites that they request. So I have a bunch of regulars who always ask for me."

"What about your family? Are they aware of where you work?"

She takes a deep drag of her cigarette and blows a few smoke rings before answering.

"My parents are both gone."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't know. It probably would have bothered them, me doing this. They wouldn't have disowned me or anything. They were good people. I was seventeen when they died. I don't have any brothers or sisters. Anyway, maybe one day I'll have a family of my own. But that won't be for a while. I'm still pretty young."

"When you came here to this city was there a specific field you were interested in pursuing?"

"Nah, I just wanted to get a job to make ends meet. It's not like I was ever going to college or anything, or have any kind of fancy profession. I like what I do. I live in a nice place. I get room and board. I've got medical care. It's a sweet deal. Eventually I'll probably have to do something else. You know, when I'm older. But by then I'll have enough money saved to buy my own place. Maybe a bar or a club. I always thought it would be cool to own a club."

#

"That's E-n-t-o-m-o-l-o-g-y. Entomology. It's the study of insects."

Nadine is a twenty-five-year-old working mother, who lives here at the Mona Lisa with her small daughter. A pretty young woman of average stature and frame, sporting a head full of long frizzy dark blonde hair, she is barefoot and comfortably dressed in denim cutoffs and a turquoise tank top. It is a pleasant summer mid-afternoon and we are in the rooftop garden designed by landscape architects that Madam Dixie hired not long after the club opened. Rows of lush shrubbery and small fragrant trees are planted here and tended twice a week. We relax on two of the wooden lounge chairs during this off-hour, talking and watching Courtney play with miniature animal figures from an educational series called _Zoo Friends_. She sits on the ground in our line of vision but far enough away so she can't hear us and chatters animatedly to herself, telling her own story as she moves the figurines around.

"Did you finish school, Nadine?"

"No. I got pregnant with my daughter during freshman year and had to get a job to support us. I couldn't afford three more years and that was just undergrad. If I wanted to get anywhere in the field I would've needed to go for a post-grad degree too."

"And did you start working here immediately then?"

"I tried retail at first but it didn't pay much. Then I ran into Rhonda again. When we were kids we were best friends even though we lived in…well, our town was like two towns in one. It was built into the White Birch Hills and the people who lived at the top of the hill were rich. Rhonda's family was one of the rich among the rich. They lived in a gated community called Birch Park. We met in nursery school and we've been friends ever since. You'd think living in separate parts of town would have made a difference, but somehow with us it never did. Well, maybe once in a while there was something. But it didn't matter because at the end of the day we were best friends and that meant more than any differences we had."

"You lived at the bottom of the hill."

"Yes. Anyway, we lost touch for a while. I got pregnant and…well, I didn't really know how to tell people so I didn't talk to anyone, not even Rhonda. I was here in Hillwood working at Dillon's, which didn't pay much. And she came in one day to buy a dress. I didn't even know she had moved here. We started talking and of course she wanted to know what I was doing there, why I wasn't in school. She was really upset at me for not telling her about the baby. She said she would've helped me. I guess I didn't want to take help at the time. Maybe…I don't know…I was the girl in our class who got a full scholarship but I went ahead and blew it. Maybe I felt like it was my mistake and I had to work it out myself. Not…not that I consider Courtney a mistake. She's a blessing and I love her."

At this moment Courtney pauses in her play and turns to look at us. Nadine calls out to her.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"Mommy, can I have lunch soon?"

"Are you getting hungry already?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll be done in a few minutes and then we can go have lunch. Can you wait a few minutes?"

She nods and bends over her animal figurines again.

"She's a beautiful little girl."

Courtney shares her mother's warm brown eyes and striking long frizzy blonde hair.

"Thank you, I agree." She laughs for a moment then sobers and continues with her story. "Anyway Rhonda told me I could make better money at the Mona Lisa. She was already working here. I decided to give it a try. It was a little uncomfortable for me at first. My body was different. Being pregnant, popping out a kid. But I had lost the baby weight pretty quickly and got back into decent shape."

"Do you ever worry about bringing her up in a brothel?"

"Not really. We've got a good life. She's got a house full of adopted aunts who take care of her and spoil her. I give a little more of my pay to the house because Sakura boards and houses Courtney too. We have a really good arrangement though and I still put away a lot of extra savings. If I was still working retail we'd really be struggling. And I'd much rather be open and honest with my little girl, especially as she gets older. Besides, I don't want her to think I'm ashamed of what I do. I'm not."

"How old is she now?"

"Almost five. She'll be starting kindergarten in the fall."

"Did she go to nursery school?"

"Yes, and she went to camp for a few weeks this past June, part of July. It's important for her to be around other children her age."

"And I imagine she's asleep while you're working—"

"Most of the time. Sometimes I have to start earlier. Janna, one of the maids, usually looks after her while I'm working and she'll put her to bed if I have to start earlier than usual. Or one of the other girls does it if they're available. I like to put her to bed myself though. I like to read to her and teach her things. She loves animals and books about animals. I hate the nights when I have to miss out on that. And pretty soon she'll be reading on her own. She's almost there. She's really smart."

"Do you think, once Courtney is a little older and you've put enough money aside, do you think you might want to go back to school?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I love nature. I've always loved studying it, studying things like insects and plants. Where I grew up there were woods, so I was always able to go out and explore. I don't know that I would ever be able to transition to an academic career at this point. But it might be nice to get the degree, just to be able to say I got it."

#

"My brothers would kill me if they knew what I was doing these days. You're not gonna print my full name, are you?"

"Just your first name. But I can use a pseudonym instead if you'd be more comfortable."

She is poised to shoot the red and white striped eleven-ball into the right side pocket but she pauses and straightens, considering for a moment. "Yeah, I think that would be better. How about you just call me TJ?"

"You got it, TJ."

TJ is a stunningly beautiful young Black woman. Tall and slender with long slim legs and a lovely complexion she could have been a model or an actress had she chosen that path. I'm interviewing her in the bar and pool room, located one flight below the ground floor. Being a traditional gentlemen's club, the Mona Lisa offers other entertainment besides the company of women. This level boasts a long crescent-shaped bar, several ash tray laden cocktail tables of varying sizes and number of chair settings, three pool tables and racks to store the balls and cues, and a jukebox. Complimentary cigars are available here during the evenings as well. TJ agreed to be interviewed on the condition that she be allowed to play a few rounds of pool while we talk. Dressed in nothing but a lacy lime green bikini bra and matching bikini panties, ready to go to work as soon as the first customers arrive, she works her way around the table in five-inch pink stilettos. Our conversation is punctuated with the sound of cue striking cue ball, cue ball striking object ball, object ball dropping into the hole as she sinks every shot into the pocket she calls out with impressive precision and finesse.

"Fifteen, right corner."

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Twelve, side—just my two brothers. They're both older than me and super overprotective—fourteen, side pocket."

"Did they teach you to shoot pool so well?"

"I had a boyfriend who played. His name was Reggie. What a jerk. He wouldn't teach me. When I asked him he told me girls didn't play pool and that I should just watch and look pretty—thirteen, side pocket—I studied the way he played though and once I was living here I started practicing during off hours. It's really all geometry and knowing how much force, speed and spin you want to put behind the ball. I've always been good at math and science. I'm still working on perfecting my shot but I'm getting there. One of these days I'll meet up with Reggie again somewhere and challenge him to a game. And I'll kick his ass. Eight ball, left corner."

"I hope you get that chance. How did you end up working here at the Mona Lisa?"

"Well, I was underage when I started. I was sixteen and really stupid. A lot of people told me I had the looks and the physique to be a model. It wasn't something I had seriously thought about before but then I thought, maybe that would be a fun way to make a living. It would be glamorous. I thought I had a shot. So I listened to the promises of a sleazebag photographer that I met. Too bad I didn't listen to my science and math teachers. I could have been well on my way to a Ph.D. in physics or calculus or something. Anyway, I couldn't go home, not when I knew those pictures were out there. So I tried to make a living on the streets. I almost died."

The balls have been racked up again, the rack removed and she delivers her breaking shot with a violent crack as she utters that last sentence.

"Patty mentioned that one of you had worked out there and how precarious it is."

"Two, corner."

"So you tried working on the streets for a little while. Then what?"

"I called a friend who was living here in Hillwood at the time. She said there were brothels here and that if I had to make my living this way I should at least do it in a safer environment. She wired me money so I could get here—ten, left corner—I worked a couple of odd jobs then. I scooped ice cream, worked in a clothing store, restacked books at the public library, none of which paid much. There were a couple of other boring jobs that paid peanuts. A job in an electronics store interested me, but it was very frustrating. You know, working there as a woman, especially a woman of color. Men either didn't want a woman waiting on them or they hit on me. And the pay was still squat—five, side."

As the five-ball sails into the side pocket she is already moving around the table and positioning herself on the opposite end, where the cue ball has come to rest.

"Seven, side—I knew about this place and finally decided to give it a try. I'd already posed nude and worked as a hooker on the street, so it wasn't like I was compromising my principles anymore. Sakura was kind to me when we met and her terms sounded good for the most part. Giving half my earnings away stinks. But I guess it's a trade-off. So far it's been a pretty good deal. I got back in touch with my family once I was settled. I won't do this forever, but I'm only twenty-one now. I'm saving money and it's a living. At least until I set myself up as the pool queen of Hillwood." She laughs and winks. "Three, side."

"Well, you're very good already."

"Thank you."

"Do you ever visit with your family?"

With the cue stick she points to the corner closest to her on the right, then draws the path she intends. "Six, right off there and there and right in that hole there—I try to get home once a year at Christmas time, sometimes a second time when I can arrange it. And I call. They all think I'm still working in a store and my parents are disappointed because whenever they ask I tell them I'm not management yet."

"One more question. Do you think you'd ever like to go to college? Once you've saved enough money?"

"I'd have to get my high school diploma first – or the equivalent. After that, who knows?"

#

Raven-haired and dark-eyed, Rhonda has an air of aristocracy. Her gait and the manner with which she holds herself give an appearance that she's taller than she actually is and she speaks in a posh, refined accent. She is dressed in luxuriant bright red satin, from her sash-belted cover-up, worn open right now, to her matching panties and camisole. Her stockings and garter are red lace; she has kicked off her high black heels and curled up comfortably on one of the plush sofas in the parlor, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.

"I like this room," she tells me, taking a sip from her cup.

"It is very warm and welcoming."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like some coffee?"

"Positive. Thank you."

"Before I started to work here I worked at…well, maybe I shouldn't give out other names. That would be terribly indiscreet. I worked at another gentlemen's club. Anyway, the décor was absolutely tacky. And you should have _seen_ the way the woman who ran the place dressed. One of her dresses looked like a birthday cake. Layers of skirts in this odd combination of pastels, white with light pink and yellow and baby blue; like those flowers they draw around the edges of cakes with tubes of icing. She wore it with matching beads and long white gloves. Long white gloves can be so _élégant_."

The word is pronounced in French.

"But not with that cotton candy eyesore. I don't know who she was wearing it for. Sakura has so much more style, she's chic."

"You have an interest in clothing I see. Or rather, fashion."

"I've always been interested in it. I really wanted to go to school in New York City and become a designer, work for one or two of the major houses to get experience and then branch out on my own to design and produce my own line. But things didn't work out. My father was a victim of that stock market scam run by the Loudon Lane Looters – what a dreadful epithet. I don't know who came up with that nickname for them but it's a testament to the sheer mediocrity of most modern journalism…oh, dear…you're not the one who coined it, are you?"

"No. I never covered that stock market scam at all. So, your father was one of its victims."

"Yes. We were luckier than some. A lot of people we knew lost everything. We had to sell our house and move into a cheaper one in a less exclusive neighborhood, but we did still have a house and enough money to eat and buy day to day necessities. That was something to be thankful for, but it was still a blow. I was starting to apply to colleges that year and my parents couldn't afford to send me away. And, I mean, we went from being wealthy and living in the most exclusive development in town to being _lower middle class_! Anyway, I went to a local community college that had a very decent two-year design program but it isn't the same. There are just certain cities you must study and reside in if you want to even have a chance at breaking into the fashion world: New York, Paris, Milan, for example. Not Hillwood. And definitely not a town called White Birches. I worked as a buyer for a department store in town for a short time after I graduated."

"Dillon's?"

"No, Hutton's. Dillon's sells beautiful clothing and accessories too and I do shop there sometimes. But they didn't pay as well when I went to work. Hutton's treated their employees much better. They offered better pay, better benefits. I was an employee of a high end store and had to look the part. Hutton's gives their employees ten percent off everything in the store, even when something is on sale. So if something was marked down thirty percent I got both the thirty percent off plus my ten percent off. That meant I could buy nice new clothes and shoes every once in a while. Before, I never had to worry about sales and budgeting and figuring out when I could afford to buy something. When I was growing up anything I wanted was always…handed to me. But I'm used to it now and it's not so bad working for the things I want. Not that I wouldn't be happy if things went back to the way they were. But I like that I can be self-sufficient when I need to be, too. Independent."

Rhonda pauses and carefully sets her mug down on the coffee table. Then she leans toward me and reaches out an arm, the large billowy red sleeve of her satin cover-up dangling loosely.

"Feel that."

Automatically doing as she says I take hold of the edge of the sleeve and rub the soft, exquisite material between my thumb and two fingers.

"Beautiful."

She picks up her mug, leans back and draws her legs up, settling herself into the cushions again.

"It's divine isn't it? I'm in a different profession now, but it's still all about looking the part. Quality material, quality style, it's all an important part of negotiating a price, in my opinion. I want to give the impression that I'm a girl who is used to and entitled to finer things. I don't want anyone to ever think I'm cheap."

"When did you leave Hutton's?"

"Three years ago. One day a very handsome gentleman came into the store to buy something for his fiancée, or so he said. I knew he was a liar but I didn't care. He was very smartly dressed, obviously genteel. He smelled of money. We ended up talking. I was about to go out on my break so he offered to treat me to lunch. There was a very nice, expensive restaurant nearby and he took me there. He told me that a young woman of my looks and breeding could do better financially in a different vocation."

"He was a recruiter."

"Yes. I knew he had an angle. I'm not stupid. But the prospect of making more money was too good to ignore. I let him introduce me to the madam and started working at the other club. I only stayed there for six months."

"And then you came here?"

"Yes. It didn't take long for some of the richest clients to request me specifically. A lot of them buy me gifts too – jewelry, clothing. I won't accept anything made of fur though. Nadine would kill me if I did. I've had a couple of marriage proposals, too. But I would only accept a proposal from a certain kind of man."

She pauses to sip her coffee and I ask her if proposals are common.

"I don't think so, no. It was just my luck, I think. There is someone here that's getting married, but she knew him before and he wasn't a client. A lot of my clients are from overseas. I grew up speaking and reading French as a second language. Many foreign men who come in are more comfortable with French than with English. Between you and me even the men who speak English perfectly often want a French-speaker. They can't understand a word – they just want to hear me speak it."

"How did you end up moving from the other club to here?"

"I ran into Big Patty and we started talking. She introduced me to Sakura and the rest just fell into place. Then eventually I brought Nadine in. She's my dearest friend since nursery school."

"Yes, I've met her already, and her daughter."

"She's a good mother. And she named her daughter Courtney."

She beams and I ask her if there is any significance to the name Courtney.

"Nadine and I lost touch when she got pregnant, you see. I know now that she felt ashamed and embarrassed, and she just couldn't face anyone. But this was _me_. It made me sad that she'd gotten into such a tough situation that she didn't think she could talk to me. We just happened to run into each other again while she was working at Dillon's and I was shopping there. I could have helped if I had known, at least a little, and I still wish she'd reached out to me. But Courtney has always been my favorite name. And even though we hadn't talked in so long, she had her baby and named her Courtney. It probably sounds strange to you, but it felt like she'd made the contact already in her own way because she loved the name, too."

#

"McKay. Loretta McKay. I know your name. You covered all the Dino Spumoni news stories."

"That's right."

"And you wrote _Dino: A Life._ "

"Yes. You read it?"

"Man, that guy was a piece of work. But he could really sing. He once sang at our school dance. I liked your book. It was researched well and you really have a gift with words and language. The way you organized and presented his life was interesting too. Very original."

"Thank you. That's one of the nicest compliments I've ever received. Are you a writer yourself?"

"Did someone tell you that?"

"No, I inferred—"

"Not too many people know and the ones that do know better than to talk about it. I used to write, in my more sentimental days. Some people said I was good."

"What did you write?"

"Mostly poetry. Trust me it was mushy crap that shouldn't have ever seen the light of day."

"It was probably better than you thought."

"So, you used to work for TV13. How come you left?"

"I wanted to freelance and write more for myself, about things that interested me. Working for a TV news outfit is good steady work once you've got it, but you're working on whatever is assigned to you. It could be a topic that you're passionate about but often it isn't."

"It's good that you were assigned Dino Spumoni stories. You obviously had an interest in his life."

"Well, I grew up with his music. He was before my time, but my parents loved him. Of course I wanted nothing to do with it for a long time, because it was their music. But then I got assignments to cover his comeback, some of his other public appearances, his 'death' when he faked it. I became fascinated with his life and work. You're right, he was kind of a scoundrel but he had a lot of talent. And now, I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind. Somehow we've ended up with you interviewing me."

"What can I say, I'm curious. But sure, go ahead. Oh, and you don't need to use a pseudonym. Helga is fine. My family probably won't figure it out. And if they do…oh well."

Helga is a tall, leggy blonde. She has a deep golden tan and wears a satin teddy in a shade of blue that both sets off the tan and brings out her blue eyes. We're in the room that houses several contraptions available for use by more creative customers, which she insisted that I see in order for my research to be complete. Right now she is straddling the tamer 'passion chair'. Unlike the other young women I've interviewed she walks around barefoot.

I sit cross-legged on the floor.

"Was it just you and your parents? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I have an older sister. Let's call her O. Oh, hell, just call her Olga. She's Big Bob's and Miriam's favorite."

"Who are Big Bob and Miriam?"

"My parents. That's what I call them. They don't mind. Oh, hey, maybe just call him Bob in your exposé, not Big Bob. I don't want to be _that_ obvious. Oh, what the hell, you can leave it as it is."

"Are you still in touch with your family?"

"Once in a while I call and make up some story about what I'm doing. But I left home when I was eighteen and never went back."

"Did you go to school?"

She hesitates.

"If I ask a question that's too personal or that you don't want to answer you can just let me know. My aim is to present a candid story from all the interviews I conduct, but I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable."

"You don't have a cigarette, do you?"

I shake my head.

"I've got mine in my room. Do you mind if we move?"

"Not at all."

I hit the stop button, gather up the recorder and the rest of my things, rise and follow her to her bedroom. She waves me toward a rocking chair in the corner with a beautiful throw woven in shades of pink and purple hanging over the back, grabs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the top of her dresser then settles herself on her bed, her back against the headboard, one knee drawn up toward her chest, her other leg stretched out in front of her. I wait for her to light up then I press the start button.

"Miriam – my mother – is a stay-at-home alcoholic. She's always been unhappy – except when my sister was around. I never wanted to end up like her. I was a straight A student all the way up through senior year of high school. As soon as I graduated I left town. I went to Stanford University and made it all the way through."

"What was your major?"

"I had a joint concentration, East Asian languages and cultures with an emphasis on Japanese and a second concentration in art history."

"Are you fluent in Japanese?"

"Yeah. I started learning as a kid. My best friend spoke it at home and started teaching me. We're still good friends."

"And you got your degree."

"With honors."

She draws deeply on her cigarette and then releases the smoke, her exhalation shaky.

"I don't know how I did it. I was in a really bad place then. It's hard to explain."

"College can be hard. There are a lot of new pressures."

"I know. That's why a lot of kids start drinking. I avoided it because of Miriam – alcoholism can run in families. But I had this general…anxiety. It wasn't about anything specific, it was just there in the background all the time. I was always thinking that I wasn't good enough."

With a trembling hand she brings the cigarette to her lips again, inhales then slowly lets the smoke out.

"I don't really know why I'm telling you this."

"We can move on to something else if you'd like."

"No, it's okay. I don't mind talking about it actually. I thought I would, but I don't."

"Do you want me to switch out the names? I can use pseudonyms."

"Thanks. That won't be necessary." She takes another puff of her cigarette then shifts and leans over to pick up a glass ashtray from the bedside table. She settles back against the headboard and taps the ash off the end of the cigarette. "Anyway, I was convinced that everyone would figure out that I wasn't as good as they thought, that I was a fraud. That I'd fooled them all into thinking I deserved to be there when I really didn't. I don't know why I started thinking that way. When I was a kid…I never had those kinds of thoughts. I went with a lot of guys in college and had a lot of sex. It wasn't the guys I cared about, it was the sex. The more I had sex the more I needed it. If I went more than three days without it the anxiety came back and it was worse. I guess you could say the tendency toward addiction in general can be hereditary. At least I'm in the right profession."

"At some point after you graduated you came here?"

"Phoebe was here. She's my best friend. I was so involved with trying to score sex and getting through classes I didn't really have time for anything else. We lost contact during college. I looked her up on the internet and made contact with her after graduation. I realized how much I missed her and felt lousy for letting us lose touch. I know we went to school at opposite ends of the country but I could have found a way…it really was my fault but she blamed herself. She was very glad to hear from me. Anyway, I came to visit and ended up staying in town. She got me work here."

"Does she work here as well?"

"She's—a silent partner."

"So, she's more involved with running the business from behind the scenes."

"Phoebe is brilliant. She went to Harvard and graduated top of her class. She's got a degree in economics and philosophy."

"That's an interesting combination."

"It's how she became such a great businesswoman."

"I understand Sakura also went to Harvard."

"Yeah, that's probably how they met each other. Anyway, things have been good for me here. And I'm getting married next month."

"Congratulations. Rhonda mentioned that someone was getting married. Will you be leaving here then?"

"No, I'll still be working."

"Oh. Obviously your fiancée knows what you do for a living and it doesn't bother him."

"He thinks it's sexy. But that's Arnold for you. So open-minded, so forgiving. So kinky. He loves that other men find me attractive. He says it's a compliment to him, too. I really love the boy."

"Well, again, congratulations, Helga. I wish you the best."

"Thank you."

"One more thing I was curious about before we finish. Rhonda, as a French speaker, works with many of the clients who speak that language more comfortably than English. You said that you're fluent in Japanese. Do you ever get to use those language skills?"

"Sure, sometimes. We've got clients from all over the world. Hey, I hope we'll all get a copy of this to read when you're done writing it."

"Of course. There will be an excerpted version with some of the stories printed in _Point of View Magazine_ next month. When the full book comes out in January I'll make sure that at least a couple of complimentary copies are sent to Sakura."

#

Once I've interviewed each of the women and taken individual photographs as well as pictures of several of the brothel's rooms I want to photograph the group.

After a lot of giggling and bickering good-naturedly about where and how they ought to pose Helga appeals to everybody's sense of irony, suggesting that they stage a mock tea party in the parlor. It takes just ten minutes for the group to set up the cups and saucers, teaspoons, a couple of teapots, creamers and sugar bowls, and take their seats primly around the long coffee table, all dressed in their working outfits, legs crossed.

I set up the camera while they settle themselves in, each holding a cup and saucer. Their laughter is mirthful and warm; a palpable almost sisterly bond flows between them all. As I prepare to take the photo they turn toward me and smile, and with a pinky out each one raises her cup in a toast.


End file.
